I'd Like to Believe
by Libra-Library
Summary: Good thing the children had left. If they knew how the aftermath of the war played out, they would never sit still in History again. How Peabody survived Troy and returned home, with a little help. Rated for language, violence, and dark themes. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**I'd Like to Believe**

**Chapter 1: It's the Fall Before the Climb**

A/N: If I owned Mr Peabody and Sherman it wouldn't have been HALF as good as it turned out.

The children were out of the Horse. Judging by the arc they cut in the air, they would land safely a few feet from the cliff edge. The Horse and it's lone occupant, however, were plummeting towards the water and rocks below.

Peabody was no stranger to peril. Time travel was full of hazards, especially when traveling with a child who didn't seem to understand that. But wreckage riding a falling wooden horse was something entirely new to him. He couldn't see where exactly he was aimed to land, and with nothing but unforgiving ocean and less forgiving rock below, it didn't seem to matter.

_Relax. Try to keep your feet down. Roll to the side if you can after impact._

Peabody thought of his son, safe and waiting on the cliff. He relaxed.

The Horse hit the rocks, and the section he was in snapped off from the force. He slammed hard against the wood, and was unconscious before even reaching the water.

* * *

_She clung to the Elder's tunic, thrashing and shrieking. The other men reached for her, tried to pull her away, and she clawed at the faces of any who dared come too close. The Elder handed off the child to a guard, who departed despite the screams of the woman._

_"He survived the wine, you bastards! You bastards! Hera, please, my child-"_

* * *

Charis inhaled deeply, sucking a breath in through clenched teeth. Salt stung at her nose and eyes. She leaned back against the rocky cliff face, cool stones poking harshly at her back through her peplos. Moss grew rampant in the shade of the overhang, and the waves lapped over her sandals periodically.

Charis hated cliffs. But the much loathed hideaway was the only escape from the screaming of the Trojan citizens.

She was no warrior. She could ruin a man's face with her dagger and ruin his legs with a good kick, but running into a city full of warriors who despised her people was nothing short of suicide. All there was to do was wait for the battle to end, and pray that Agamemnon would keep his men in line.

Above her atop the cliff, wood creaked and cracked loudly. Charis opened her eyes, and looked out to the sea. A final crack echoed through the air, and all went silent.

"What in the name-"

A great beast of timber hit the rocks out before her, and she lurched back. The rocks cut into the fabric and flesh, and shards of shrapnel impacted around her.

Agamemnon's horse. There were men in there.

Charis was on her feet in seconds, wading out to waist deep in a matter of moments. She dove into the waves headfirst, and just before her bistre curls vanished under the surf, a distant sound of a shouting child reached her ears.

* * *

His glasses were missing. Likely broken by the impact anyways. That was what upset him the most at the moment.

His head was swimming, and he was not. He was only vaguely aware that he was sinking into the ocean, unable to breathe, and too injured to swim to safety. He couldn't even open his eyes fully. Everything hurt.

Something warm and soft emerged from the freezing darkness, and curled around his wrist. The gentle tug sent a shock of pain through most of his body, and his eyelids managed to slide open just a little further.

He was being pulled up towards the surface. His rescuer's dark green eyes blinked, squinting in confusion, as he came into view. She dragged him up onto the rock and into her lap, and his peripheral vision went fuzzy.

Peabody leaned against the soft cloth of the woman's crimson peplos. _A Spartan woman. This makes no sense; they weren't warriors. _But he was too tired to argue with his savior over the illogical implications of her existence. His ears were ringing, his lungs were aching, and his son wasn't there.

"Shrr...mnnn..."

* * *

A talking dog. A talking, well dressed dog. Charis had just plucked a talking dog from the flooded wreckage of Agamemnon's war horse. The gods had to be playing some sort of surreal joke.

"Sh...shurrrrr..." The creature in her lap struggled weakly, trying desperately to speak clearly as his lungs protested. "Shrrrrrrr..."

Charis gently patted his back, coaxing softly. "It's alright. Just get your breath back-"

"Sherman..."

Charis blinked. "Sherman?"

The dog shuddered. "My son..."

Her blood went cold. The Horse.

"My...my boy-"

She gently set him down, and dove back into the water. Peabody groaned, rolling over onto his stomach (a sharp stabbing implied damaged ribs). He struggled and propped himself up on his elbows, looking up towards the clifftop. He scanned the area desperately, dismayed by the absence of the two figures he was so certain he would spot. He slid back down, sighing and heaving for breath. Behind him, Charis emerged from the water, gasping as she pulled herself up. "I can't find anyone. The waves might have..."

Her words trailed off, and her nails dug into her palms hard enough to break the skin. Peabody glanced back at her. "Not...not in the Horse."

Charis stared at the dog as if he had just blasphemed. "What?"

"The cliffs. He was on the cliffs."

The Spartan glanced up, following his gaze. Beyond the walls of Troy, the battle sounds had ceased. The child was somewhere in the city. She sighed. "I dearly wish you had told me that before, friend."

She carefully lifted the dog up, and made her way back to shore. "I have never heard of a dog with the voice of a man back home. But if you were in the Horse, I assume you must be allied with our people. Now that we've taken the city, your son will be safe with them."

She knelt down, retrieving a bag she had brought down with her during the siege. Dumping out the contents (food she never really planned on eating and a single peacock feather, which she tucked into her hair), she looked it over, seemingly satisfied. The dog had gone silent, either lost in thought or too tired to carry on a conversation. Charis gently helped him up, sitting him down in the sack. "I'll have to carry you. Your son is safe, but we need to find him soon all the same. No child should see what goes on when a city falls."

The dog shifted in the bag, his head just barely sticking out. "The Troades," he murmured softly.

Charis nodded, lifting Peabody over her shoulder. "I have a duty to Hera that must be done. We'll find your boy, but we must hurry."

The duo emerged from the darkness, and Charis turned to face the cliff side. She craned her neck to see the clifftop. "I hope you aren't afraid of heights."

Peabody had blacked out again, muttering unintelligibly at her back. The woman sighed, and prepared to climb, when something solid brushed against her heel. She glanced down, surprised to find a black frame caught against the straps of her sandals. Retrieving the object, she held them up to the sun to get a better view. In between the loops of smooth metal, cracked glass magnified and scattered the rays.

Puzzled by the strange device, she folded it (though heavily warped, it folded like paper; she would have to ask Agamemnon or the dog if they knew how the object worked) tucked one metal leg into her rope belt, and began to climb.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'd Like to Believe**

**Chapter 2: May We Stay Lost on Our Way Home**

**A/N: As always, I don't own MPAS. Shout out to anyone reading from tumblr (and their siblings ;) ). Not a very long chapter but still I ALMOST NEVER UPDATE WITHIN A DAY THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I KNOW PEOPLE ARE WAITING FOR THEM BLESS Y'ALL.**

**Warning: the following chapter includes references to past violence against a child. While graphic detail is avoided, be aware. Spartan tradition was not kind to babies deemed weak.**

_It was late, and the shadows cast by the moon against the rocks made the descent difficult. Every now and then, she would put her foot down in an illusion, and scramble to keep from falling. Her instructor would beat her to see how disgracefully clumsy she was being. But the matter was urgent._

_"I can find him. He'll be safe. It hasn't been long, he'll be alright..."_

_She missed a step about a meter from the ground, slipping as the rocks cut into the soft meat of her arm. She hit the dirt hissing, arm wrapped around her chest as she clamped a hand around the wound. She blinked back tears, and her vision slowly cleared._

_Something was lying a few feet before her face. Something small._

_A wordless cry bubbled up from her throat, and she crawled over to the tiny figure. She reached over to touch it._

_Cold._

_This wasn't right. It made no sense. They were supposed to leave him to starve, to waste away, to feed the birds._

_They had dropped him._

_She pressed her forehead against his little head, crying without restraint and shrieking._

_"Hera help me; oh dear Hera take pity-"_

_She was still screaming when the helot she had requested to await her return found her in the early morning hours. _

_"HERA HELP ME!"_

* * *

The scar on Charis's upper arm throbbed, as if remembering a long forgotten pain and shrinking away. With one last grunt of exertion, she clambered over the edge, dragging herself forward a few feet before her arms gave out. She laid flat on the cliff for a few moments, cheek pressed against the warm dirt as she caught her breath.

_Teacher would be livid_, she thought. _It's been awhile since I last did that._

Peabody shifted in the pack, and she reluctantly stood. Her back was aching fiercely, and she carefully lowered the bag to the ground. The dog appeared to have been lulled into a restless sleep, and he occasionally shuddered. Charis frowned, and took him up in her arms as she headed into the city.

It wasn't hard to find Agamemnon. The king was riding a vandalized Trojan chariot in circles, whooping and showing off for his men. The woman groaned, and had to raise her voice to get his attention. "MY LORD."

The chariot skidded to a stop a few feet away, and the king jumped down. He was smiling, and wagged a finger in a mock scolding. "Charis! Good to see you, but you really shouldn't be here."

"Did you really expect any different, Agamemnon?"

"Of course not," he chuckled, rolling his eyes, "and what've ya got there?"

Charis presented the dog. "I found him over the cliff; the Horse is little more than driftwood now. I was hoping you'd know him."

"Hey, yeah, that's Shermanicus's dad! Wondered where they ran off to."

"Have you seen the boy?"

The king shrugged. "Haven't noticed. If they got separated he couldn't have gone far past the city. There's nowhere else to go. Him and the little girl they're with should still be here."

Charis sighed. Wonderful, there were TWO children missing. "I would very much appreciate it if you could have your men search for them. I don't want those little ones running loose while your men," she said this with a bitter tone, "engage in their 'revelry'. You understand."

He nodded. "I'll try to keep them in line."

"Thank you. I need to tend to him;" she nodded down to the dog, "if the children are found, we will be in the Temple of Athena. Otherwise, it would do your men well to stay away."

She swept off to the temple, and the soldiers respectfully cleared out of her way. Agamemnon called after her. "You husband is out searching for a fugitive! One of Helen's handmaiden's ran off. He should be back in a few days."

Charis didn't turned, but muttered bitterly. "Yes. With a new bride most likely."

* * *

_"Mr. Peabody?"_

The dog shifted in his sleep.

_"Mr. Peabody!"_

Where was his son?

_"DAD!"_

Peabody's eyelids fluttered open, and his heart was racing. He worked himself up into a sitting position, groaning and rubbing his temples. Night had fallen, and a single torch provided the only light. In the corner, the Spartan woman tore some bread from a loaf, and hearing the rustling, turned. "Good to see you awake. I wasn't aware anybody could sleep that long."

She strode to his side, carrying a plank with two bowls, two cups, and some bread upon it. She sat cross-legged by the injured dog, and indicated half of the food. "Eat. You need to recover."

He glanced at her warily, still confused as to why a Spartan woman would be in the city, but accepted the bowl. He took a large gulp, starving after his misadventures, but quickly set it down and flinched. "Black soup, I assume."

Charis laughed heartily. "It's good for regaining strength. Not so good for your tongue."

Peabody nodded, withholding a gag out of respect, and sipped some diluted wine to wash out the taste of vinegar and pig's blood. The young woman watched, and then spoke up. "Agamemnon's men are searching for your son and the girl. They should turn up before the day is over."

For the second time, Peabody nearly choked. He coughed, and Charis thumped his back helpfully (unintentionally aggravating his bruises). He sputtered a little, but nodded. "Thank you."

"Of course. I am Charis of Sparta."

"My name is Peabody."

The two continued to eat in silence, too focused on the meal to converse. After a few minutes, however...

"...Are those my glasses?"

Charis paused, and blinked. _Ah. Right._ She reached up, carefully removing the warped metal frame from her curls. "Sorry. I didn't know where to put them. I think they may be broken."

The dog accepted them, holding them out in front of his face _(So that's where you put them_, Charis thought to herself) and sighing. "You're right. I can repair them myself in the morning."

Sherman and Penny were missing in a war torn city, he was too injured to get to the WABAC, and now his glasses were damaged. Peabody took a deep swig of wine. He wished it was an Einstein on the Beach.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'd Like to Believe**

**Chapter 3: Do You Still Believe in One Another**

**A/N: I own nothin' but Charis. Also, don't set up a thermite glass kiln at home kids. This one's a long-un', the plot kicks into gear.**

"I wasn't aware that people could make glass themselves. I've only ever seen pieces formed naturally."

Peabody nodded, testing that the concrete-reinforced steel cup was structurally sound. "Not surprising. It's a fairly new method."

_Yes, about a negative millennium old_, he thought to himself. He didn't say it, of course. The ancient Greeks were groundbreaking astronomers and mathematicians, but he doubted they were ready for time travel yet. Charis could barely grasp the concept of thermite.

"And you say this metal dust will burn better than wood?"

He finished stirring the silica sand mixture, placing it down on the small stone "altar" Charis had set up on the cliff side. "Precisely. Much better. Have you, by any chance, seen a volcano erupt?"

Charis frowned, pouring the mixture around the sand-filled vessel. "You're starting to worry me. Should we prepare an offering to Hephaestus before we light it?"

Peabody brushed his hands off on his chiton, deadpan. "Only if we're offering the soup."

The woman smiled, backing up a few feet. "Careful; show any disrespect and your glass might not melt. We've spent long enough scraping rust off the swords for that termite powder."

"Thermite, Miss Charis," Peabody corrected gently, though his mouth pursed into a small frown. She was right; it had been quite a long time since they had begun to assemble the ingredients, and there was still no word on the location of the children.

"Erm, Peabody?"

It was possible they had traveled to the cliffs to find him and just missed their ascent, but that would only account for a day. They would've returned to the city by then.

"Mr. Peabody..."

Or maybe they were hiding from the soldiers somewhere in the town. But why would they hide? Sherman had gotten along so well with the Achaeans...

"HEY PEABODY!"

"WHAT, CHARIS?"

The woman raised an eyebrow, gesturing towards his left hand. He glanced down. "Oh. Well."

He had been too lost in thought to notice that his lit torch was hovering just above a small trail of thermite leading to the altar. A tiny ember hit the metal, and in a nanosecond-

_FWOOOOMMMMMPH._

The duo flung themselves back to avoid the massive pillar of flames that engulfed the altar. They sat there in a stunned silence, singed but unharmed, for a few seconds. Charis began to cackle with amazed glee, and Peabody allowed himself an upwards glance. "Alright then. Message received. No soup."

They brought out some food and set up a sort of makeshift picnic around the fire, nibbling at goat and cheese as the glass melted. After awhile, Peabody finally posed a question that had been picking at him since he was pulled from the water. "So, why are you here?"

Charis was resting on her stomach, basking in the sun and watching the fire absentmindedly. "Hm?"

"I was under the impression that Spartan women only fought in defense on their home land. Why did you come to Troy?"

"Ah." Charis sat up, criss-crossing her legs and stretching. "That. I am no warrior, Peabody. I am here in the service of Hera."

"How so?"

She continued to gaze into the fire. "I am here to defend the women and children of Troy from the soldiers. As a disciple of the goddess of women, that is my duty."

Peabody was silent, the pieces coming together in his head. _Oh. Well that explains the peacock feather._

Charis continued on. "Menelaus is a very ill-tempered man, and the soldiers can be rowdy savages when they get what they want. I have Agamemnon on my side; he owes me a favor, so I am allowed to step in when I think the innocents are in danger. You're a very smart man, Peabody. You are well aware what can happen."

He was very aware. And, if the history books and tragedies were to be believed, he knew what _would_ happen.

* * *

The glass was cooling, Charis had gone off to check on Agamemnon and the men, and Peabody realized that only one problem had been solved in relation to his eyewear. The frame was still bent, and he'd need to unscrew them to attach the new lens. He had to get the spare repair kit from the WABAC.

The hike down gave him a chance to continue theorizing as to why the children were still missing. If Agamemnon was to be trusted, then the men were scouring the entire city, if not for the kids, then for their own purposes. He paused at that thought, then shuddered. He needed to find Sherman and Penny and get the hell out of Troy. As capable as Charis seemed, he didn't want to risk his son having to witness the aftermath of a conquest.

In a way, he got his wish. He just didn't realize it until after he noticed two pairs of footsteps alongside the three headed for the city gates. Two small pairs. Going back the way the others came.

The WABAC. They went to the WABAC. Of course.

Peabody began jogging after the tracks, the plight of the city's remaining inhabitants almost forgotten. He could find his son. He could apologize for doubting him, for not trusting him, for the argument. They could go home. They could-

He stopped. The WABAC wasn't shimmering into view. The footsteps stopped short.

_...No._

He reached out a paw, unable to believe what he wasn't seeing. He should have come to rest against a cool steel door. Instead, his hand kept going, and he stumbled forward.

They took the WABAC. They left without him.

"...What are you doing?"

Peabody jumped out of his skin, turning to face a very confused Charis. "I..."

"Are you looking for somethi-" She trailed off, noticing the footprints beyond him. She squinted, brushing past the still very stunned dog. She glanced out at the distant waves, too far out to have overlapped with the trail.

"Where did they go..." she murmured in confusion.

"Charis-"

She spun to face him, looking vaguely afraid. "Where did they go? Where's the chariot tire trails? Or the hoof prints? Why do they just stop like that?!"

Peabody sighed. So much for secrecy. "I...I think I know where the children are. It's not here. It's nowhere near here. They went home."

Charis stared at him, shaking slightly. _Went home._ He didn't mean Sparta. He didn't mean anywhere. She could hear it in his voice. Something was going on that she couldn't understand.

"What are you?"

Peabody stepped forward, hands up. "I'm-"

She backed away, stumbling and scuttling back on the ground in terror. "WHAT _ARE YOU_?"

"Certainly not what you think I am!"

"And what is that?"

He sighed. "You think I'm a sorcerer. Or some form of evil spirit. I'm many things, Charis, but not that."

The two of them went silent, staring at each other for a long time. Charis, still very unsure, but seemingly satisfied that she wasn't in danger, spoke up. "Where did you come from? The_ truth_, Peabody."

He took a deep breath, then looked her in the eyes. "It's not important where I'm from. It's when. I came from three thousand years from now."

Silence. "Three thousand, two hundred fifty-four years, to be exact," he added.

Charis's face changed, from distrust to something resembling pity. She stood and brushed herself off, shaking her head. "You have the madness."

Oh _for God's sake._ Peabody threw his hands up in frustration. "I'm telling the truth!"

"Maybe it seems like truth to you!" Charis sighed, her voice taking on a softer tone. "You were badly hurt when the Horse fell. You aren't thinking clearly; can you even hear yourself right now?"

"Loud and clear, and I can prove that I'm telling the truth!"

Charis rubbed her temples. "How? How exactly can you prove to me that you're from the future?"

Peabody tried to think of something, anything, that he could only know if he was right. But he was at a loss. It had to be something personal, something Charis herself would know and few others. How was he supposed to think of something when he had never heard of her before meeting her? She wasn't in the textbooks, or the legends. She might as well have not existed; tales of holy beings providing a deus ex machina were common, but none of the stories mentioned...

Of course.

"You rescued Iphigenia," he blurted out, "didn't you?"

Charis froze, olive eyes going wide. "...what?"

He found it. He found his proof. "Almost a thousand years from now, a man named Euripides is going to write about it. Agamemnon was made to sacrifice his daughter, but she was replaced with a deer and sent to Tauris to worship Artemis. You're the one who did that, didn't you? You rescued her! That's why Agamemnon owes you!"

The woman before him was stunned, barely able to respond. "I...nobody knows that. Not even Iphigenia's own mother; how-"

Peabody placed a hand on her arm, looking her in the eyes. "Because thousands of years from now, people still tell that story. They say it was Artemis who saved her, some divine will. But it was you."

Charis stood a little straighter, and let out a shaky breath. "I...Alright then. I guess...I think I believe you. What I don't understand is how you got here."

Oh boy. This was going to be a fun talk. "It's...a bit of a long story."

She shrugged. "It's a long hike back to the city."

Peabody managed a smile, which she gladly returned. "Alright then. From the beginning. You see, when I adopted Sherman..."

* * *

The sun was just starting to sink below the horizon by the time they made it back to level ground. Peabody was surprised how receptive Charis was to his story; though she was visibly confused by the science behind the WABAC, she accepted it readily. "Of course, now that the children have taken it," he made a gesture of frustrated futility, "I'm stuck here. Unless they return, but I can't imagine why they would."

Charis considered it for a moment, then offered, "Well...why not build a new one?"

Peabody shot a questioning glance, and she continued. "If I'm understanding, all you need to get it moving is spinning it really fast. We could assemble something to do that for us."

"Hm. Possibly...the problem is how to navigate once I enter the time stream. An escape pod we could certainly accomplish, but it would take years to recreate the instruments with present day materials." He sighed. "We don't have that much time."

Charis smiled, raising an eyebrow. "So the great mathematician who can, in a second, calculate the angle to fling two children out of a falling horse and onto the very edge of safety, can't figure out how long a trip back home would be?"

Peabody skidded to a stop. "...huh..." He glanced up at Charis. "You're a genius, Charis."

She smiled. "A lot coming from you, apparently."

As satisfied that Charis was to know the truth, something was itching at the back of her head. Peabody's knowledge of Iphigenia's survival, while proof enough that he was telling the truth, implied something that unsettled her. She opened her mouth to ask about it, when she heard screaming.

Peabody froze, realization setting in. He knew he had forgotten something. "Cassandra at the temple..."

Charis didn't even take the time to ask what he meant by it. She charged into the city walls with all the fury of an angered bull. Whatever was happening at the temple (she could guess), it was sacrilege and criminal and she would not stand for it.

"Charis!" Agamemnon. _Damn it all!_

"In a moment, your majesty!"

"Charis we need to talk!"

She whipped around, still backing towards the temple. "Agamemnon one of your men is..."

Her words slowed, and tumbled back down to the bottom of her throat. Agamemnon looked uncomfortable, like he'd rather be anywhere other than there. He held a Spartan shield in both hands, the wood warped and splintered. Peabody caught up, noticed the situation and it's implications, and murmured a soft "oh no" as he glanced towards Charis.

The woman took a step forward, reaching out to the shield. Her fingers brushed against it, and it felt as if a stinging cold ran up into her arm. She had almost hoped she would've gone right through it; that it would be revealed as an illusion.

"...Hieronymos..."

Her knees gave out, and both Agamemnon and Peabody were at her side in a second.

In the temple of Athena, something crashed, and the screams fell silent.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'd Like to Believe**

**Chapter 4: It's Your Blood that's Red Like Roses**

**A/N: Still don't own MPAS. Warning for blood and horrifying emotional stuff. This one's a whiplasher.**

The glass had turned out almost perfect. The curve he had ground in was just a slight touch off, but at the very least everything wasn't blurry anymore. He had to borrow a knife from a soldier to unscrew the frames, and pound them back to an appropriate shape with a rock. Primitive, but the job got done. And it gave him something to do while he left Charis to herself.

Peabody sighed, glancing back at the Temple of Apollo (she refused to set foot in the Athenian Temple). A strange choice of shelter, considering it was widely held that the god had been against the Achaeans, but he assumed she was more focused on the aspect of healing and knowledge that he represented. She didn't seem to know that young Prince Troilus had been slaughtered upon the altar; he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her.

It had been hours, and he didn't see a torch's glow from inside. Something was wrong.

He cautiously approached the temple, neglecting to grab his own torch. If something was going down, he'd need to be unseen. Alternatively, if everything was alright and he was just being paranoid, he wanted to be able to withdraw as if he had never been there.

The only light in the temple came from the moon shining in thick bars through the pillars. Half-concealed by shadows, Charis rested against the base of the statue of Apollo, angled away from Peabody. She appeared to be running her hands over the shield, as if she was trying to commit every splinter and gouge to memory in the darkness. Satisfied that she was alright, at least physically, he turned to leave.

"He was stopped to get some water."

Peabody paused, and she continued. "He was watering his horse, and Acamas ambushed him. The escaped handmaiden was his grandmother. He was one of ours, and was helping her leave. He was afraid she'd be pursued or punished," she sat the shield down, "and he was right."

The two were silent for a few moments. Whereas the past few nights had been lit by burning buildings and punctuated with rowdy shouting and screams of survivors, the temple was perfectly silent. Silvery light cast harsh shadows, painting the room in sharp black and white.

"They aren't putting his name on his grave."

Peabody was stunned. "...what?"

"He didn't die in battle. He died chasing an inconsequential fugitive. He will not be honored."

He moved towards her. "That's ridiculous! Look at his shield; there was obviously a fight! Is there no way to challenge the-"

Charis snapped her head towards him, her words vicious. "The last time I challenged a tradition, they murdered my son!"

The temple fell horrifically silent, save for the gentle panting of the infuriated woman. Peabody gaped; he had never heard such rage in Charis's voice, and both her tone and words frightened him. She realized this, and shook her head, backing up to lean against the statue once again.

"During a raid on the city, a helot woman killed several enemies in defense of a temple, before dying herself. I spread the idea that her sacrifice needed to be honored. That her name should be engraved. The Gerousia refused, and the public outcry was immense. In revenge, the elder in charge of examining infants for deformity and inferiority declared my son unfit to live."

Peabody had come over to sit with her, and had he been a human, he would've paled. He remembered the look on her face when she believed Sherman had been in the Horse, and could feel the bile rising in his throat. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, shining with old tears. "My son was a healthy child. We dipped him in the wine and he all but swam in it. He would've brought glory and victory to all of us, but he was thrown off a cliff because a group of ancient egos felt their comfort had been threatened."

"That's...an obvious bias. How could they get away with it?"

Charis spoke quietly, pointedly looking away. "The elder who ordered it did not."

Peabody didn't have to ask; the silence did that for him. Her voice was cold as ice. "I followed him when he was hiking one day, and when he stopped to rest, I brought a stone down upon his head. Some of the elders suspected I had something to do with it, but Helen and some of the priestesses asserted it was an act of Hera, punishment for unjustly ordering the death of a baby."

She turned to face him, tears streaming freely. "Do you consider me a murderer?"

The dog didn't even hesitate. He took her hands in his, speaking comfortingly with confidence. "No. I consider you a mother."

Peabody would carry the smile she gave him for the rest of his life, and it would never fail to spark one of his own.

* * *

The two were surprised to find that, despite the horrors and anxieties of the day, they were ravenous. So they gathered some figs and honey, and contented themselves with snacking messily by the light of a small torch. They ate in silence for a long time, until...

"So. What are we going to need to build it?"

Peabody responded mid-chew, manners temporarily cast aside. "Build wha?"

"The temporary WABAC."

Oh _hell_. He had almost forgotten about the WABAC. "Well, first we'd need to actually build a sphere with enough structural integrity to survive the speeds necessary."

"We have stones, bones, and steel."

"Crude, but beggars can't be choosers. I can easily build a rig to spin it fast enough to go, but it'll need a secondary thrust system if it starts to lose speed in the time stream."

"Explain thrust system."

"Right," he broke off a piece of charcoal from a discarded torch, and drew a simple diagram on the floor, "thrust engines work by spitting flame with enough force to push whatever they're attached to forward. To achieve suitable thrust would require a massive amount of fire."

"We could prepare more thermite," Charis offered.

"Good, but the time required to prepare enough would be improbable; we have to supplement it."

"Yak's fat burns; after the sacrifices there's plenty of that to go around."

"Also helpful, but most of it would be needed to grease the spinning mechanism. Anything els-"

"Have you ever seen what happens when black soup boils over into the fire?" she asked with a wry smile.

Peabody stopped drawing, and glanced at her with a mix of awe and reverence. "You _amaze_ me sometimes. And just out of curiosity; is it sacrilege that I just doodled all over Apollo's floor?"

Charis chuckled, shaking her head as she got up to search for supplies. "If it is, then it's the most innocent sacrilege this place has seen. I'm sure the god of wisdom much prefers an informative drawing over the blood of his son."

_So much for keeping the death of Troilus from her._

Troilus.

_Of course!_

"Wait!"

He jumped up the follow her, catching her at the entrance. She shot him a questioning look, wondering what was so important as to delay the building of the WABAC. His words were fast and urgent. "Charis, I owe you more than I could ever repay. You've saved my life and continue to trust me despite the implausibility of my being here, and you still want to do more. I think it's time I helped you for a change. The innocents of Troy are still in danger, and I know who is in the most dire need."

Her eyes went wide. "How? Who?"

"The Women of Troy is another popular subject in the coming centuries. It's already too late to protect Cassandra, but soon their attentions will turn to Princess Polyxena, Prince Astyanax, Princess Andromache, and Queen Hecuba. The latter two live as wives to high ranking Achaeans, but the former are slated to die."

"What? Prince Astyanax is a child! And why Polyxena; she'd be a more desired bride than her sister and mother!"

"They fear the prince would grow to seek revenge, and there's been rumors that she betrayed the weakness of Achilles to Paris."

"That's ridiculous! The girl was willing to marry him to end the war, Paris simply took advantage of the distraction and was lucky enough to hit the right spot!"

Peabody shook his head. "You know these men; they don't care how in love they were. They demand a sacrifice to keep the wind steady, and it's easier to believe that someone betrayed their friend than an enemy got lucky."

Charis clenched her fists. "Idiots. We need to have a talk with Agamemnon."

* * *

For all the adventures Peabody had experience, he had never actually seen anybody literally kick down a door. It was once a thick wooden one, but was reduced to a couple of splintered planks.

_Good lord. She's got the legs of a startled horse._

"AGAMEMNONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"

_As well as the roar of an angry lion._

The Mycenaean king nearly jumped out of his skin. "Whoa, Charis! Are you alr-"

Charis cut him off, marching across the room menacingly. The man might as well have been a child before a vicious wolf, and he backed up against the wall as she yelled. "What the HELL is all this I hear about your men planning on killing Polyxena; she is a princess and a former betrothed of Achilles and I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS AGAMEMNON ARE YOU HEARING ME?"

The king cowered and nodded. "I hear ya! I don't have anything to do with this; I've been busy searching for Shermanicus!"

"Shermanicus isn't here; he already found his way home! Now I'd very much like to send Peabody home as well, but that's hard to do when all of the soldiers who could be helping are busy trying to slaughter innocents! Why the hell hasn't Menelaus stepped in?!"

"He's been with Helen since the fighting stopped!"

Charis's furious gaze was aimed directly at Agamemnon, but Peabody swore he could feel hateful shrapnel bouncing off the walls. She spoke through gritted teeth. "If he has done anything to_ harm her_-"

"Are you kidding? He's been crying like a big baby the past two days! She's done nothing but give him back rubs and reassure him that she doesn't hate him."

She threw her hands up in the air, frustrated. "Not that I'm not overjoyed that they can work this out but for the sake of the Gods could that not wait until later?! Come on, Peabody, we have wrongs to right."

Off in the distance, a woman began shouting. The duo looked at each other, and Charis's stomach dropped.

They started running.

* * *

The group surrounding the grave of Achilles was massive, comprised of nearly every surviving Achaean soldier. Off to the side, Queen Hecuba struggled in the arms of several guards, screaming and reaching out for the hand of her daughter. Polyxena reached back, though she didn't fight her captors.

"LET HER GO, ODYSSEUS!"

The crowd turned Charis, standing by the city gates and huffing with exertion as Peabody caught up. "You will _not murder this girl_."

Neoptolemus was the first to speak up, his young voice wavering with emotion. "This girl murdered my father, Charis. This will not go unpunished!"

Her gaze could melt steel. "You know that's a lie, boy. Your father was murdered by a prince too cowardly and selfish to give up our queen. She loved him, and he loved her; do you honestly think he'd be pleased to see you slaughter his intended?"

The men spoke in hushed tones, growing impatient in their bloodthirst. Neoptolemus was shaking, tears threatening to betray his fear. Peabody was struck by the sight; what was such a young boy doing here? They had brought him to fight, and let him watch his father die; now he was little more than a terrified and grieving child pressured to take an undeserving life. The soldier could barely speak. "Even if...if that w-were true...we need a sacrifice. We need the wind."

He suddenly grabbed Polyxena and drew her close, knife pointing at her face. Hecuba screamed, Charis moved to lunge at him, and all hell would've broken loose if Peabody hadn't pulled her back. Soldiers drew swords, and the tension in the air was palpable.

"STOP, PLEASE!"

Everyone paused, turning to the youths in their midst. Neoptolemus nearly dropped his dagger, startled by the shout of the princess in his grasp. The girl stood as straight as possible, and though there was obvious terror in her eyes, she maintained a face of dignity. Instead of pushing the knife away or scratching at the arms of her potential murderer, she simply held her dress closed against her chest. She glanced to her mother with a gentle, reassuring nod, and the queen fell to her knees sobbing.

Polyxena then turned her head to make eye contact with Charis, who was frozen in shock. The girl's voice was soft, innocent, and sweet. "I will not fight this, my lady. I advise you not to either. I would much prefer death at the feet of Achilles, than to serve a another man's slave or whore. Let me find my family, please. Let me have my peace."

The crowd was silent, every breath held tight. A gentle wind from the sea swept across the dirt, rustling hair and fabric.

With a sudden, anguished cry, Neoptolemus dragged the knife across Polyxena's throat.

As her blood mingled with the dirt, the twin screams of Charis and Hecuba did the same.

* * *

_The shattering of glass brought Peabody sprinting into the kitchen, skidding to a stop just before the spill. The ruined glass pitcher and spreading pool told a story, confirmed by the startled and crying child by the counter._

_"I'm sorry Mister Peabody, I didn't mean it!"_

_He gently but firmly placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, guiding him away from the mess. "I'm not mad, Sherman," he insisted in a soft voice, "just step away from the glass; it's dangerous."_

_He continued to softly comfort the child, escorting him from the room as he glanced over his shoulder. The red juice continued to spread sluggishly across the floor._

* * *

Peabody all but dragged the catatonic Charis back to the city gate, his reassurances nearly drowned out by the shouts and cheers of the soldiers. He carefully lead her to sit down and lean against the wall, holding her hand all the while as if guiding a lost child. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, and she stared right through him as her mouth moved silently.

"Charis? Charis, what are you trying to say?"

Though she remained motionless, her lips continued their quiet mantra. He leaned closer, desperate to understand.

"The baby. They'll kill the baby. We couldn't save her, we can't save the baby. He's just a baby. Just a baby-"

Prince Astyanax. She was right; if they found him, he would die just as surely as his young aunt had.

Something had to be done.

Off in the distance, obscured to all but the most sensitive of ears, thunder crashed over the sea. Peabody stood, fists clenched, and growled as he turned to face the crowd.

Something _would_ be done.


End file.
